


rumors

by vergilia_43



Category: Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, HISTORICAL INACCURACIES ABOUND, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn With Plot, Power Imbalance, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, discussed Horace/Maecenas, implied Maecenas/Bathyllus, male citizen bottomphobia?, or i guess, paper-thin plot, platonic Horace & Vergil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24532021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vergilia_43/pseuds/vergilia_43
Summary: Martial finds out about Vergil and Alexis and decides to write an epigram about them. He’s not prepared for their reaction, however...
Relationships: Alexis/Publius Vergilius Maro | Virgil, Alexis/Publius Vergilius Maro | Virgil/Marcus Valerius Martialis, Quintus Horatius Flaccus & Publius Vergilius Maro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. The Party

**Author's Note:**

> Why the hell did I write this.
> 
> (the explicit part is chapter 4, if that’s what you’re here for)

It happened at Maecenas’ party, as most things generally did. Vergil had come at both Horace and Maecenas’ insistences, as long as it was on the condition that Alexis come too, to accompany him when Horace got absolutely plastered (as inevitably happened at these things).

And it was happening now. The villa was bursting with wine-drunk poets, and the place was only getting rowdier the longer the night lasted. Vergil was uncomfortably sure he’d seen Maecenas and Bathyllus... performing an encore (of sorts) of the night’s dance already, and Horace had disappeared into gods-know-where— somewhere else in the house, on the hunt for more wine, he assumed. A voice down the hall (Propertius, perhaps?) was singing a song of the drunken, off-key variety to a chorus of laughs, and from the few snippets he could make out, it involved two satyrs and a magical fascinus.

In short, it was the time of the night that Vergil disliked the most.

Where was Alexis? He sighed and picked up a discarded goblet off of the floor. It would ease his mind to find a familiar, sober face in the middle of this riot. They could find a private room— no matter where, Maecenas must have plenty— or maybe stroll alongside him in the gardens, enjoying the night air and the silence. He’d always been close with Alexis; Alexis would know if and when he wanted to talk. Sometimes, it was just nice to know that there was someone else beside him, and that that someone else was in full control of their faculties. Vergil looked into the goblet. Only a few drops left.

A warm hand pressed against his to take the cup. Vergil looked up. “Alexis?”

“Oh, I’m just as surprised as you.” His swift hand was refilling the cup before Vergil could even register it. “Since when do you drink, Parthenias?” He pronounced the nickname playfully (in the dark it sounded like the flick of a tongue), but Vergil still felt a blush rising. He gave Alexis a slight smile and nodded his thanks.

“I wasn’t actually drinking,” he explained. His fingers brushed slightly against Alexis’ as he took the goblet back. “I was only— well, actually, I was looking for you.”

Alexis set the pitcher down and leaned against the wall next to Vergil. “For me? Are you that lonely?” Vergil looked into the goblet again instead of meeting Alexis’ eyes. Those big, dark eyes, now glinting in the torchlight, could reflect the stars if their bearer so chose.

“Perhaps.” Vergil took an unwilling sip, then recoiled at the taste. “Did he dilute this at all?”

Alexis snorted. “Nobody else here seemed to mind.”

“I don’t think anyone else here would notice if they were drinking plain water at this point.” Alexis chuckled, and Vergil glanced over to him. Those luscious lips he’d noticed so many times before were now played into a smile, and something in Vergil wondered what it would be like to have them pressed against his.

Oh.

Oh gods.

Now more than ever, he wanted to kiss Alexis. He wanted to feel his warmth against his body, he wanted to tangle his hands in those dark curls, and more than anything, he wanted to feel Alexis kiss him back.

Alexis was looking at him now with a mixture of concern and leftover amusement. Vergil realized he’d probably stopped their conversation for slightly too long to avoid suspicion.

“Is it too loud out here?” Alexis asked.

“Maybe a little,” said Vergil. He hoped the darkness of night was hiding the heat spreading across his face and under his tunic. “Let’s find somewhere else.” He took Alexis’ hand and led him into one of Maecenas’ private rooms, shutting the door behind them and taking a deep breath.

Thankfully, it was even darker than in the main hall. Vergil was uncomfortably sure that the heat under his tunic was growing, and he didn’t want to imagine the look Alexis would give him if he could see what was going on down there.

“Publius?” Alexis whispered. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” was what Vergil wanted to say, but what came out was more like a strangled “Alexis.” The boy had always been beautiful, but now all he could see were those gorgeous lips, soft and perfect and kissable. His strong shoulders, his olive skin, his dark eyes— the way Vergil had imagined the Alexis of his Eclogues. Oh, who was he kidding? Both Alexises were one and the same— in the same way that Vergil was Corydon now, and perhaps always had been, his heart crying out for the beautiful Alexis.

Vergil had moved without noticing and crossed the distance between them. They were so close now that all he’d need to do was lean in and— “My dear,” he murmured, half to Alexis, half to himself, “Would it be ridiculous to say I’d like to kiss you right now?”

Alexis wrapped his arms around Vergil’s neck and pulled him close. “I thought you’d never ask.”

—

Early the next morning, Martial would find them in the private room Vergil had suggested, and smile to himself.


	2. The Poem

“I think it’s time we move back to the country.” 

Horace was still nursing a hangover when Vergil knocked, gently enough to be considerate but not enough to help Horace’s situation. He’d barely sat up on the bed when Vergil came in. “Why the hell would we do that.” It wasn’t even a question. He didn’t think he had the strength to make it one.

Vergil simply handed him a parchment in response, and despite his aching head, Horace attempted to read it.

“M. Valerius Martialis.” He looked up at Vergil, who maintained the same tight-lipped grimace as before. “An Epigram.” Of course. Horace read it aloud.

_ “Dear puers, don’t fear that you’ll never become a man: _

_ There’s always someone who’ll take you when no one else can. _

_ Just ask Vergil’s Alexis, if you don’t want to be crass: _

_And he’ll tell you how the bard of Mantua takes it up the—“_ Here Vergil cleared his throat pointedly. 

By the time he’d finished, Horace was barely restraining his laughter. “Publius, I really don’t think this is something to move to the countryside over.”

Vergil grimaced.

“Come on, you know Martial’s full of shit. He’ll say anything to start rumors.”

“He’s also widely read,” Vergil said. “When he writes something, people believe it.”

Horace shook his head. “Martial’s a master of making stuff up. Remember— what was it, two months ago? He wrote a poem about how I broke my pelvis riding a particularly wide  horse . I’m sure it worked for what he was trying to say,” (he wiggled an eyebrow) “—but no one could’ve believed it.” Vergil barely acknowledged the attempt at humor.

“That never happened.” 

“No, no, of course not. My pelvis has been tested on more than one occasion since then, and it—“ Horace paused. No response: Vergil was clearly more distressed than he’d thought. 

“Publius?”

“Martial made up that horse-riding incident, though.” He turned away from Horace, voice constricting. The next words caught in his throat, no matter how he tried to phrase it. He looked at Horace helplessly. Thankfully, Horace caught on.

“He didn’t make this up, did he.” 

Vergil finally nodded. Horace mentally kicked himself for laughing earlier. “Gods, I’m sorry. I just assumed he made it up. Here,” he patted the space next him on the bed, gesturing Vergil to sit.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Vergil sank into the bed, attempting a smile. “It  would be funny, if it wasn’t... true. The thing is, people listen to Martial, and if word gets around to certain important people that I“ —here Vergil unfolded the poem and sighed— “it would ruin my reputation.” 

Horace put an arm around his shoulders, and Vergil was unable to resist the urge to lean his head on him. After a few moments like this, Horace spoke. “If you’re worried about your reputation, I can at least assure you Maecenas doesn’t care.”

Now that he thought about it, it made sense, of course. Of  course Horace and Maecenas had been together. Vergil had seen the way they looked at each other, although he’d been willing to chalk it up to a particularly close friendship, born from a particularly close patronage. That’s probably where they’d been at the party, too, once Bathyllus had left. 

He glanced at Horace for confirmation, and Horace simply winked. Vergil suppressed a groan. “Why couldn’t Martial have written about  you?

“Maecenas and I are old news—“ Vergil raised his head as if he were going to object. “—well, to everyone except for you, obviously.” Vergil put his head back down. Horace laughed lightly. “He wrote about you because he thought it’d be good gossip, the legendary Parthenias getting lucky with such a handsome boy.” Vergil turned away, but he couldn’t quite hide his blushing smile. 

He remembered how his nickname had sounded on Alexis’ lips, right before they’d made it untrue. “Sure, I suppose it was...” He searched for the word, but all that came up was “...pleasant.” Horace raised an eyebrow. “Leave me alone.”

Horace had no intention of doing so. “Augustus’ favorite poet, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced with mock grandeur. “Behold, his lyrical description of sex... as ‘pleasant!’”

Vergil resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands, tempting as it was, and leaned back onto Horace’s shoulder, feeling him laugh. It almost made him laugh, too, until Horace spoke again.

“We could ask him to take back the epigram, you know.”

Vergil sighed doubtfully. “I don’t think Martial takes anything back.” 

Horace shrugged. “It’s worth a try. I mean, my other idea was to punch him in the face—“

“ _No_.”

“Right, I thought you might say that.” They sat in silence for a few moments, thinking. Then: “He’s obviously quite jealous of you, maybe we can do something with that?”

“What do you mean, jealous?”

“Think about it. Martial only writes gossip because he lives a sad, boring life himself.” Vergil snorted. “No, really. You’ve got everything he doesn’t: imperial favor, steady patronage, a  sex life(probably, judging by his poems— at least, you do now), actual talent—“

“Well.”

Horace was about to scold him for his modesty when he caught the look on Vergil’s face. They’d been friends for too long for him not to know when Vergil had been struck with inspiration. “You’ve got an idea.”

Vergil turned to face him, a real smile on his lips. “I think I do.” Vaguely, Horace wondered if he saw something devious in his look, but he banished the thought as soon as Vergil spoke again.

“I don’t think he’ll need to be jealous anymore.”


	3. The Guest

Martial was just about to knock again when the door opened. He’d been expecting both poets to greet him, but only one was standing there.

He tried to hide his surprise with an enthusiastic greeting. “Horatius!” He embraced the other man tightly. “So good to see you again.” 

“I could say the same for you, Valerius,” Horace said with a strange sort of smile. Martial blinked, but it was gone— maybe he’d misinterpreted it. “Come in, come in! I forgot you haven’t been to our villa before.”

As Horace led him through the hall to the triclinium, Martial admired the expensive trappings of the place. Gifts from Maecenas, if he had to guess. Maybe there was an epigram somewhere in there— how much dick did Horace have to suck to furnish the house? Yes, he could work with that. He suppressed a smirk as Horace gestured him to lay on one of his silken couches.

“I quite admire the decorations here,” Martial said, practically leering. “Maecenas really must love you and Vergilius.”

Horace reclined on his own couch. He knew the epigrammist was trying to uncover something about him and Maecenas, and he refused to fall for it.

He cleared his throat. “Speaking of Vergilius,” he said. “I read the poem you wrote about him and Alexis.”

Martial glanced up. “Oh yes,” he said with a smile. “I’m quite proud of that one.”

Horace laughed heartily, if a little too loudly in Martial’s opinion. It was almost as if there were something else— no, of course there wasn’t. Why would he need to be suspicious of Horatius? He’d always taken Martial’s epigrams in good stride, and Martial couldn’t imagine Vergilius would take offense either.

“I’m sure Publius would’ve liked it too,” Horace continued, sobering up. “If only it hadn’t been so... what’s the word? Brutal.”

Martial inwardly preened. 

“Listen, Valerius.”

“I’m listening.”

Horace was stone-faced. “Vergilius is one of my dearest friends, and I’d hate to see you spreading rumors about him.” 

“They’re not really rumors, though, are they, Quintus?” His thin lips were pressed into a smirk. “I saw them together at Maecenas’ party, you know. In the throes of the wine, most likely, but—“

Horace sprang to his feet then. “Wine! Where are my manners? What sort of  host would I be if I didn’t offer you our finest wine? I’m so sorry, let me go get you some.” 

He left the room before Martial could assure him it was alright— he could already hear Horace muttering to himself about the importance of hospitality down the hall— and Martial wondered briefly why he was going to fetch it himself.

Didn’t he and Vergilius have slaves? His appreciation for his host’s generosity, however, outweighed it in his mind. Probably Vergilius and Alexis weren’t here, he decided. 

The villa must have been larger than it looked, because quite some time had passed since Horatius had left. Martial had just decided to call for him when he heard voices from another room. Strange. He’d thought they‘d been alone. Intrigued, Martial got up and followed the sound.

He continued down the hall that Horace had first led him down until it split in two. The voices were closer now. Martial went right, and instantly noticed the first room off of this hall was a bedroom. Too extravagant to be Vergilius’, he supposed. There was another room next to it, practically identical except for the closed door. That must be Vergilius’. And from the sound of it, the voices were in there. 

His chest tightened in a twisted sort of excitement. Whatever warning Horatius had been trying to give him was forgotten— all he could feel was the thrill of possibly confirming his theory about Vergil and Alexis. Oh, he’d have a field day with their little secret.

Martial pressed his ear to the door. There were definitely two people in there, and now that Martial had an extremely good idea of who they were, he just needed to plan an appropriate entrance.


	4. The Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the porn part.

Martial tapped on the frame of the small room, then paused. He could practically feel the two bodies frozen in place on the other side of the wall. Their movement had stopped, and if he strained, he could hear quick breathing from both of them. Slowly, Martial pushed the door open.

If he was surprised, his only reaction was to blink and make sure he was seeing correctly. Alexis had Vergil pinned down on the bed, continuing to speak in low tones even as he acknowledged Martial’s presence. Vergil, with his hands above his head, staring directly at Martial, as if he’d been expecting a visitor. Neither entirely naked, as if they’d been too deep in their passion to do more than throw away their undergarments and Vergilius’ toga.

“What do you want, Publius?” Alexis was saying.

“You,” was all Vergil managed to say. His cock was half-hard through his tunic already.

Alexis turned to look at Martial then with those deep, dark eyes. ““And you, Marcus Valerius.” Martial froze. “What do you want?”

Martial shook his head in disbelief as he moved towards the bed. He tried to think of something to say— a witty remark, or a biting insult, perhaps, he’d had so many a second ago— but nothing came forward. Instead, he found himself transfixed by Alexis’ eyes. They followed him as he approached, partially hidden by messy dark brown curls that framed his cheeks in a surprisingly attractive manner. 

Martial found himself reaching forward and tucking a wayward strand behind Alexis’ ear. “You,” he whispered. 

When his thumb brushed his cheekbone, they both paused. Alexis’ dark eyes seemed even larger than before. It almost took Martial by surprise to find himself not only keeping his hand where it was, but moving it down to cup Alexis’ jaw, and pressing his lips to Alexis’ as if he’d always meant to.

“Marcus Valerius,” Alexis breathed, his tones low and sultry. Somewhere behind him, Vergil’s breath hitched. Martial wondered if this was the way Alexis had seduced him (it certainly hadn’t happened the other way around, had it?). “Would you like to join us?”

“I—“ Martial glanced over to Vergil, who nodded, still half red and half erect. When he looked back to Alexis, the other man was smiling. Oh, gods above. They’d planned the whole damn thing. They’d meant for him find their little tryst. 

He could run out of the room now. He could, and should, leave, grab a stylus and write a hundred more scathing epigrams about Vergilius getting fucked like this. He had enough material to last him years. But he didn’t.

He could only whisper “Gods, please,” before tangling his fingers deeper into Alexis’ hair and pulling, hard. He doubted Vergil had ever hurt Alexis— he probablydidn’t even know how. Perhaps they were all going to learn something new tonight.

He placed a slow kiss on the back of Alexis’ neck. Gooseflesh rose on Alexis’ arms, but he leaned into the touch. From across the bed, Vergil moved in and let one hand wander over Martial’s clothed hip, only stopping when it found his already half-hard cock. Martial began kissing higher, where jaw and ear met, and now the only sounds in the room were man-made— their stilted breaths, the rustle of clothes, the parting of slow lips from skin. 

Martial kissed Alexis’ cheek next, as Alexis slowly turned in his arms. But when he moved to kiss his cheek again, Alexis struck lightning quick, one hand grasping his chin, the other cupping the wandering hand that had covered his chest. He joined their lips softly. Martial leaned against it, until the light touch turned to a firm nip of teeth. The pain was gentle, yet it went straight to his groin, where Vergil’s working hand had helped his erection spring to life. He was hard now, and he had an idea of exactly what to do with it.

“Publius Vergilius Maro,” he said, almost in a sing-song. He broke from Alexis and took Vergil by the shoulders, pushed him prone onto the bed. “Turn over,” he commanded, and Vergil complied quickly. “I see Alexis taught you well.” Martial chuckled as pulled Vergil’s tunic up, revealing his ass. Somewhere to his side, Alexis was shedding his tunic, but Martial was focused only on Vergil now, pulling Vergil’s hips up to meet his. 

“I knew you’d bottom for anyone who’d have you.” Martial breached him with his fingers first, working him gently and slowly, with as much tenderness as he could muster. Oh, if Augustus could only see his favorite poet now, warm and tight around his fingers, squirming for more. 

Vergil had just arched his back in pleasure when Alexis came forward again, tunicless and equally erect. With practiced ease, Alexis slid his cock into Vergil’s waiting mouth and began to rock him from the other side. Vergil moaned, barely able to restrain himself.

He sucked Alexis down, running his tongue around the base of his cock. He grazed the tip with his teeth when he drew back. Alexis was leaning back, pulling his hair. He was quiet, except for his breath hitching when Vergil swallowed him down again. “Gods, Publius,” he shuddered. “Make me come.”

“Don’t— tease.” Vergil groaned and pressed back into Martial as he withdrew his fingers, feeling empty and begging for more. When Martial finally pressed his cock inside of him, they both gasped together. Their bodies moved in tandem, rocking as Martial rolled his hips in such a slow, gentle rhythm to match the pace that Alexis had set. He could tell that Vergil had nearly gotten Alexis off by the way he panted and bucked harder each time in Vergil’s mouth. Alexis twisted his fingers into Vergil’s hair, doing his best not to scream as he came. 

It was almost painful to watch Alexis orgasm when Martial himself was still begging for release. And judging from the way Vergil was pressing into him and whining, he agreed. Martial decided to give him what he wanted.

He thrust into Vergil, each time harder, overcome with lust. Gods, he wasn’t that tight— of course, Alexis had taken him recently, and silently Martial thanked him for that. They continued to rock together until Vergil was practically begging, and then Martial twisted just enough to hit his prostate. He hit it just right, perhaps a little too rough as he slipped from eagerness, and when their bodies went slick with sweat and Martial’s tunic stuck to his skin, he felt Vergil give first, coming over the sheets and his knees. Martial was barely able to feel the way Vergil’s body shuddered around him before he, too, came. 

—

Martial woke some time later to Vergil wiping him down with a warm cloth. He was sitting beside him, half off the bed, stretched out and leaning over him on his elbow.

No, not Vergil. Martial felt a thrill go up his spine. He looked up and realized it was not Vergil wiping him down, but Alexis.

“Problem, Marcus Valerius?” Alexis met Martial’s gaze, but continued to clean him, efficient and gentle as though he were running a cloth down the thigh of a lover.

“Thank you,” was all Martial could say before he noticed the hand cradling his head tugging very lightly on his locks. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t mind,” murmured Vergil. 

“Not at all.” Alexis replied in a low, sultry voice that awoke something in Martial. He blinked in surprise, but Alexis merely moved up Martial’s thigh to work his hip. 

Vergil reached for Alexis then, and Alexis stopped his ministrations to let himself get pulled closer. “Where would I be without you, Alexis?” he asked, running a hand through his curls at the same time as he ran his hand up Martial’s arm. They both shuddered.

Alexis cupped a hand on Vergil’s cheek.

There was a hush in the air as Vergil considered both of them. Then, with the growing smile that was so rare on his lips, Vergil spoke. 

“Any more questions?” he asked Martial. 


End file.
